


Lending Softer Ears to My Lungs

by elysiumwaits



Series: Tumblr Prompts/Fics [5]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arthur Pendragon Returns (Merlin), Canon Major Character Death, Depression, Dreams, Grief, Happy Ending, Immortality, Love Confessions, M/M, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 16:40:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19749646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elysiumwaits/pseuds/elysiumwaits
Summary: Merlin dreams of Arthur as the years go on.--The Wheel of the Year cycles over and over, the hourglass is flipped on the table, seconds turn into days turn into decades.Merlin stands through it all.Alone.





	Lending Softer Ears to My Lungs

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a Tumblr Prompt List -   
> 6\. Things You Said Under the Stars and in the Grass 
> 
> Title from "The Mortal Boy King" by the Paper Kites

The world turns on. The sun rises in the morning and sets again in the evening, the seasons transition as they always have. People age and eventually die, and babies are born and eventually age. Civilizations rise and fall, wars are fought and lost, wars are fought and  _ won _ . Useful things are invented, useful things are forgotten. 

The Wheel of the Year cycles over and over, the hourglass is flipped on the table, seconds turn into days turn into decades. 

Merlin stands through it all. 

Alone.

Even when he (eventually, after a couple of centuries) strays from Avalon, he dreams of the lake. Not necessarily of the water, but instead, he dreams of the cold, dewy grass and the clear night sky. He lies on his back and stares at the stars - they shift with the seasons and the years just as the waking world does. Even in this quiet dreamscape, time marches on, unstoppable.

But here, he doesn’t mind it so much, the fact that time waits for no man, including immortal sorcerers. Here, he lies in the grass and gazes at the stars, and here, Arthur lies with him.

“You should go back,” Arthur tells him once, after a month or so has passed Merlin by. It’s early enough that Merlin can still feel the passage of time acutely, marks it in days rather than decades. “Be around the people who love you, Merlin.”

He’s sitting while Merlin lays, both of their faces tilted up to the stars. 

“I can’t leave you,” Merlin says after a long moment. 

“Can’t or won’t?” Arthur shifts then, looks at Merlin - he can feel it, but Merlin can’t look back, can’t see his face, isn’t ready yet. “All your magic, as powerful as you are, they’ll write legends and stories about you. People love a hero, Merlin.”

He’s teasing, but Merlin thinks the words over all the same.

“No,” he finally says, softly into the gentle breeze that blows off of the lake. “It was only ever for you, Arthur. All of it was for you.”

“I think you’ve earned the right to be a little selfish,” Arthur replies after a long moment.

They say nothing more that night, and in the morning Merlin wakes with the sun, alone. 

Merlin lets himself age, becomes withered and ancient. He feels the ache of his bones, watches as his hair turns white, and knows he has outlived so  _ many _ of the people who once mattered to him. He hears the whispers on the wind now, feels the thrum of the magic in the earth around him, and still he doesn’t leave the lake. 

In his dreams, he is young again. He lays in the grass, and he looks at the stars, and Arthur is there with him.

“Merlin,” Arthur says. “A man can’t live on dreams alone.”

“They’re all I have left, I think,” Merlin murmurs. He likes to close his eyes and let the cool air of the lake wash over him, hear the gentle sounds of the water. He can  _ feel _ Arthur next to him, warm and alive. A solid presence. 

“No, they aren’t.” And here, sometimes, it seems that Arthur is… softer than he’d ever allowed himself to be, unburdened. The lines of his face are smoother, his shoulders more relaxed, or so Merlin’s noticed in the moments he allows himself to look. “Or they wouldn’t be, if you’d  _ leave _ .”

Merlin snorts. “Even when you’re dead, you’re still telling me what to do.”

“Someone has to, and since I’m the only one you’ve spoken to in the last couple of centuries, I guess it has to be me.” 

Merlin makes a noncommittal sound, watches the stars like they’ll move or do a trick any moment now. 

“Merlin.”

Merlin can’t  _ help _ but look then, even though he knows he shouldn’t, that he’s not… And Arthur looks sad, face turned down from the stars to look at Merlin instead, sitting cross-legged in the grass instead of stretched out like every other time that Merlin’s dared look at him before. 

“Arthur,” Merlin starts, and stops again because he doesn’t know what to say. No words can take away the guilt of what he’s done and the lies he’s told, the fact that Arthur is dead. 

“This isn’t what I want.”

Merlin turns away again, back to the stars. Tears prick at his eyes, and suddenly, even here in this dreamscape with Arthur, he feels  _ old _ .

“Merlin,” Arthur says, softly. “I was going to die, sooner or later. Battle, sickness, old age… it was going to happen. We always knew that.” He takes a breath, and the stars above Merlin blur as he tries to blink the tears away. “But I never wanted you to be alone after. I never wanted you to spend the rest of your life grieving. I always hoped… that you would find someone else to love just as much as you had loved me.”

“Never,” Merlin whispers, and feels a tear slide from his eye down to his ear. It’s not the first time he’s cried for Arthur, but it’s the first time he’s done it here, in the sanctuary of his dreams. “There was only ever you. I could  _ never _ , Arthur, don’t you understand? No one will ever matter to me as much you.”

“What did you think would happen?” Arthur asks, heartbreakingly gentle. 

Merlin chokes back a sob, because he’d never… he had never actually  _ thought _ about life without Arthur, the idea that Arthur, so good and shining, could ever die, could grow old or fall in battle or give in to some sickness. They’d been through  _ so much _ , and Merlin had never thought that a day would come that Merlin existed in a world where Arthur didn’t.

“Merlin,” Arthur says again, coaxing, like he wants Merlin to look at him.

Merlin can’t. God, but he can’t. “I always thought that I would die first,” he finally confesses. “That if something got to you, it would be in spite of… that I did everything I could, up until that very last moment. I wish I had, or that I had died with you.”

Fingers, gentle, encircling Merlin’s wrist. It’s the first time in two centuries that anyone has touched him, the first time that Arthur has touched him in this dream-world of theirs. 

A moment later, Merlin blinks, and he is once again old in the sunlight of the waking world.

Merlin is never really sure if the Arthur in his dreams is real. It feels real enough, from the grass to the stars to the lake, but Merlin knows that his grief in this is all-consuming, knows that he may very well be insane at this point, that this comforting presence in the night could very well be a manifestation of his own mind. He doesn’t ask if Arthur is real, doesn’t pry more into it. He’s afraid of the answer, if he’s honest.

“You can’t stay here,” Arthur tells him, firmly. 

His hand is in Merlin’s, and it has been since that night so many months ago, when Merlin had admitted that he wished he had died alongside Arthur. Every night now, Merlin blinks to find himself in the grass, and Arthur’s hand finds his. 

“I won’t leave you,” Merlin says, just as firmly. 

“Of course you won’t.” Arthur’s hand squeezes Merlin’s briefly. “No matter where you are, you’ll come back here every night. But you can’t… Merlin, you can’t stay here forever.”

Merlin still doesn’t look at Arthur. Sometimes it’s hard, sometimes he looks and the guilt of living without him is overwhelming. “But you’ll come back. And what if I’m not here?” 

There’s a long moment. The stars shine, the lake breeze blows, the grass tickles the back of Merlin’s neck, and Arthur’s hand is a warm, heavy weight in his own.

“It will be a long time.” Arthur’s voice is soft. “No one deserves to be alone for that long. And going out, seeing the world, experiencing things… none of it means that you love me any less. I  _ want _ you to live your life, Merlin, I  _ want _ you to be happy.”

Merlin says nothing. What can he say?

“Don’t spend forever waiting to fall asleep again,” Arthur says, and Merlin feels him shift closer, feels the line of Arthur’s body press to Merlin’s side. “Eventually we’re going to run out of things to talk about, you know.”

Merlin breathes out a surprised laugh, wet with tears he’s trying not to let fall. “Am I not entertaining enough for you, sire?” he manages, like his heart isn’t breaking all over again at the thought of leaving Arthur behind.

Arthur, though, won’t be distracted. “If you won’t go on living for yourself, then do it for me,” he says. “Live the life you wanted for the both of us.”

He squeezes Merlin’s hand again, and Merlin wakes. This time, though, the ache is gone from his joints, and he’s as young as he was the day Arthur died. He doesn’t know if that’s a blessing or a curse, really, that suddenly it feels that no time at all has passed.

But still. Everything Merlin has done since that fateful day they met, a lifetime ago now… It has all been for Arthur, and here is one more thing that Arthur has asked of him. 

So Merlin goes.

The world turns on. Merlin ages, and then magics himself young again every so often when he gets tired of the aches and pains. He meets people and makes friends, watches as they grow and fall in love and have children and die. He buys land and builds himself a home, establishes a family line that is really just essentially himself old and then one day young again. 

Magic carries on, always finds a way, but becomes a thing of fairy tales and legends, little gifts that people write off as talent or technology. The dragons vanish, and then Merlin feels truly alone - a dragonlord of nothing now. The day that he calls and no one comes, the day that he knows he is the last…

It’s a dark day.

He sees the world, he learns the languages, he finds the spark of life that he thinks Arthur would have wanted for him. And then, one day, Merlin realizes that he’s not as anxious to go back to sleep. He doesn’t spend days, months, years, waiting to sleep again. A decade passes before he goes back to the lake, and then a century. 

But every night, without fail, Merlin returns to the grass, returns to the stars, returns to Arthur.

“Tell me a secret,” Merlin demands one night, when his head is pillowed on Arthur’s shoulder and Arthur’s hand is tangled in his. It’s strange, how as the years have gone on, this place remains the same - he hasn’t worn a neckerchief in centuries, but here he does. Like no time at all has passed, like he hasn’t lived a day without Arthur.

Arthur doesn’t answer, and for a little bit, Merlin forgets that he even asked in favor of listening to Arthur’s breaths.

“I knew about the magic,” Arthur finally admits, and Merlin freezes. They’ve spoken about it, of course, it was inevitable. Merlin has shown Arthur little tricks, especially recently, when he could finally move past the overwhelming guilt of his secrets and his lies. “I never really admitted to myself that I knew, but I always knew, I think.” His other hand comes up, brushes Merlin’s unruly hair away from his temple. “I would find myself thinking that you needed to be more careful, that I needed to protect you.”

Merlin breathes, matching his intake to Arthur’s. “I wanted to tell you so many times. I was terrified that you would...”

“Admitting that I knew, that I really did see what I thought that I saw… I would have tried to send you away.” 

“I wouldn’t have gone,” Merlin manages, half-choked. 

Arthur sighs, and sounds ancient in that way that he does sometimes, like the weight of a kingdom is once more upon his shoulders. “Yes, you would have,” he says. “I would have done anything to keep you alive, Merlin, even if that meant saying the horrible things that would have made you leave. And I wouldn’t have meant a word of them, but I would have done it if it meant that I didn’t have to watch you burn on a pyre or fall under my sword.”

Merlin is the quiet one then, listening to Arthur’s breath once more. “Would you have done it? Killed me? If I had told you while your father was alive, before you were king?”

“I don’t know,” Arthur says, quiet and small. “I like to think that I would have been a better man than that, but that feels like a lifetime ago, now. I might have done it and thought I was saving you from yourself. I’m not sure who I was then. I don’t think that I would recognize myself anymore.” 

Merlin says nothing to that. He isn’t sure what to say - Arthur’s right, they were different people then, held together by Merlin’s knowledge of a distant destiny and the idea that they could be something great.

Arthur is the one to break the silence, pressing on. “I can tell you, though, that if it were  _ me _ living in a world without  _ you _ … I’m not sure I would have been able to carry on, Merlin. Especially not if I were the one to wield the sword that killed you.”

“Of all the things that could have been,” Merlin says, “I’m glad it wasn’t that. Would have put a bit of a damper on things.”

Arthur huffs out a laugh, and just like that, the serious moment is broken. “Want to know another secret,  _ Mer _ lin?” he says, and Merlin turns his face away from the stars and into Arthur’s chest. 

“Yes,” Merlin says, mostly to the cloth of Arthur’s tunic. No armor here in their dreamscape, because there’s nothing left to fight. “Tell me all of your secrets, Arthur.”

“I love you,” his king says.

Merlin smiles. “I knew  _ that _ , you prat.”

One night, Merlin goes to sleep and wakes in the morning.

He doesn’t dream.

It’s like Arthur has died all over again.

It takes him two and a half weeks to get back to the lake. He was in America, is the thing, specifically the deserts of the southwest, and no matter how much he wants it, he can’t seem to teleport back to the lake. Merlin’s magic has been finicky lately, restless and uncooperative, and Merlin doesn’t know what it  _ means _ , doesn’t have any idea what he’s supposed to  _ do _ . 

He doesn’t dream in that time, and every morning he feels the loss. 

He gets a flight, and rents a car, drives as far as he can. The land has changed, but Merlin knows the way. He can feel the pull of the magic of Avalon guiding him, just as it always has.

Merlin is scared of what he’ll find by the lake. To be more accurate, he’s scared that he’ll find nothing at all. He’s scared that he will be well and truly alone now, that Arthur will be gone. He’s got the life that Arthur wanted him to have, he’s got the land and the house, he’s got his magic, and  _ none of it matters _ if he’s got no one to share it with, if Arthur isn’t waiting for him.

Merlin reaches the lake in the twilight. The sky here is so clear, so far from the light of the cities. The grass is cool, wet with the breeze from the lake. And Arthur is not lying there, waiting for him.

Merlin crumbles. He falls to his knees on the lake’s shore, digs his hands into the place where the grass and dirt becomes rocky sand, and drops his head, curls in on himself.

“Please,” he says with a sob, and lifts his eyes briefly to the stars before dropping them again, squeezing them shut. He doesn’t know who would be listening to him beg anymore. “Please, I can’t do this anymore.  _ Not alone _ .”

A touch, gentle, on his shoulder. Merlin stills as much as he can, a fine tremble to his body. He doesn’t want to look, because  _ what if he’s wrong? _

“You’re so  _ dramatic, _ Merlin.” 

Merlin chokes out another sob, and an arm - strong, warm,  _ alive _ \- comes around him. Hands guide him up from the grass to his knees, and he lets them. He still doesn’t open his eyes, even as a thumb caresses his cheek, wipes the moisture there away.

“Merlin.” Gentle and firm. “Open your eyes, Merlin.” It’s a command, given by a king, and Merlin is, as he’s always been, helpless to do anything but obey. 

The first thing he sees is a smile. Then, blue eyes, golden hair. A red t-shirt, blue jeans, of all things, which is what convinces Merlin that he’s actually awake this time, and that it is  _ actually _ Arthur kneeling in the grass in front of him. Alive, breathing, here with Merlin.

“You’re late,” Arthur says. “Almost three weeks, Merlin. I’m lucky you explained to me where that cabin was you built, or I probably would have starved waiting for you.”

“I was a continent away,” Merlin breathes. “And I couldn’t - I couldn’t just blink and  _ be here _ , the magic was being difficult.” He reaches a shaking fingertip out to trace it along the line of Arthur’s jaw.

“I did put it through a lot.” Arthur leans, pressing his forehead to Merlin’s and curling one strong, steady hand around the back of Merlin’s neck. “I don’t think Avalon was quite ready to give me up.”

“You used  _ my magic _ to come back?” He’s not even really sure of what he’s saying, world spinning around him and words just coming out. If he wakes up, and this was a dream, Merlin really will die, he thinks wildly. “I’m pretty sure there was supposed to be a new destiny or something.”

Arthur’s lips curl into a smile - he’s too close, but Merlin can see it in the way that his eyes crinkle, in the spark of blue there. “I think we’ve done enough. We’ll make our own destiny now, Merlin.”

Arthur presses his lips to Merlin’s, gentle and desperate all at once. Above them, the stars shine, and under Merlin’s knees is the cool, damp grass, and before them stretches the years.


End file.
